


Balming Words

by Storm337



Series: 2019 Tumblr Drabbles [49]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Burns, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storm337/pseuds/Storm337
Summary: Burn with Mark and the HostRequested on Tumblr by Ahostofsorts
Series: 2019 Tumblr Drabbles [49]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587562
Kudos: 21





	Balming Words

The Host was not a loud ego. His voice carried his power, and unlike Wilford with his bombastic personality and constant shenanigans or Dark with his ever-present shadowy aura and pitched ringing, the Host did not flaunt it. He held it close and he held it tight, grasped in firm calloused hands, locked in a strong throat. Every word counted, every little utterance mattered, and the Host had quickly perfected the art of his narrations. He Saw, into the future and into the past, and he Saw the present to help him navigate and continue living as an omnipotent being. 

The Host was not a loud ego, and when he was, all of the others knew immediately something was wrong. So the Host’s scream, echoing through the manor, vibrating off or the walls and humming with poorly restrained power, caught everyone’s attention. It just happened that Mark got there first, heart beating wildly in his chest, blood running cold as he threw the door open to the Host’s recording studio. It technically shouldn’t have been possible, the door was always locked when the Host was inside, soundproof and tightly sealed with his words from within, but Mark didn’t even stop to consider that. He was too busy processing the sight before him.

The Host held his hands close to his chest, lips quivering as he tried to narrate, choking on repressed sobs and whimpers of pain. The smell of burning flesh was fading, the crackle of crisp skin making Mark’s stomach flip as the Host winced, pulling his knees up closer. The sparking box on the ground, a speaker maybe, or a radio, was blackened and charred, still spitting smoke out into the room. Mark coughed and kicked it to the side, sending it under the Host’s desk and, he hoped, not into any important wires or cables. His attention was too focused on his ego. 

Mark dropped to the floor next to the Host with a loud thud. He didn’t expect the Host’s flinch until he realized, this close, that the Host wasn’t actually narrating. Whatever it was he was trying to say kept getting caught and jumbled in his throat. He was blind. 

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just me, it’s Mark. Let me see- Doc is on his way.” 

It took some coaxing, Mark’s hands sliding down the Host’s arms to his wrists and gently tugging before his ego let his hands be pulled from his body. The blistered burns and angry red raw layers of skin made Mark cringe, feeling sick. The Host made a pained gasping sob noise, and Mark pulled him as close as he dared, the Host’s hands hovering between them, cracking and bleeding. 

“Doc’s coming, he’s coming, he’ll be here soon, it’s okay- it’s gonna be okay, Host, I promise, it’ll be okay.”


End file.
